


Canvas

by Sekiei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Getting Together, Gladiolus's tattoo, M/M, No Spoilers, Pre-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sekiei/pseuds/Sekiei
Summary: No-one gets under Gladiolus's skin the way Ignis does. In more ways than one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> * Happy Birthday, Ignis! ^______^ Let's have a new story to celebrate. ;) 
> 
> * This story starts roughly three years before the beginning of the game. There are no spoilers to worry about. :)
> 
> * In case you've been following my other series [Road Trip - Interludes](http://archiveofourown.org/series/606031), I just want to point out that this is a separate timeline. Some of the details don't fully fit with the other stories. Although if you want it to be a part of it, it's not that far-fetched. Up to you. ;)
> 
> * Thanks to [@1000Needles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/1000Needles/pseuds/1000Needles) for the thorough feedback and editing. <3
> 
> * Comments welcome and appreciated as always. ;)

 

 

**Gladiolus**

 

‘Goddamn it! Would you stop flying around for one second?’

Gladiolus is breathing hard. His tank top is soaked with sweat and he’s starting to lose patience.

Ignis dodges yet another hit, rolls to the side and springs back to his feet, putting distance between them by replacing his usual handspring with an effortless back flip. Because he’s an asshole. And because it’s the perfect answer to Gladiolus’s question. No, he does not intend to stop ‘flying around’.

It’s only been a couple of weeks since Gladiolus offered Ignis to spar with him. He saw him coming out of yet another lonely practice session at the end of a long day of work and he wanted to help. After all, they are both looking after Noctis. Training up the Prince’s staff officer could prove useful in the long term. The fact that the man is easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt either.  
But regardless of the reasons behind Gladiolus’s offer, their sessions have proven surprisingly challenging. Gladiolus has experience, technique and strength on his side. He expected to correct Ignis’s mistakes and teach him discipline, observation and other basic skills he works on regularly with Noctis. Instead, day after day, he finds himself subjected to a flurry of swift attacks, feints and sidesteps that force him to focus and bring out his best game in order to not end up on his ass. Ignis’s fighting style is mostly self-taught, more than a little improvised and completely unpredictable. It is far from devoid of mistakes, but his preternatural agility and speed more often than not compensate for them.

Gladiolus can easily put Ignis on the defensive, but that’s little help if his hits never connect. In fairness, Ignis’s strikes rarely connect either, instead meeting steadfast blocks from Gladiolus’s training blade. Their fights turn into a stamina contest and so far - unsurprisingly - Gladiolus has gathered more victories. But winning is becoming harder. Putting Ignis through such intense bouts every day is improving his endurance. Already, Gladiolus can tell the difference. Every time, he has to push longer and further than before to finally find a mistake he can exploit. And he worries. Soon, he can tell, the challenge is going to be one of patience rather than stamina. Already, he doubts whether he can beat Ignis at that game.  
Gladiolus has always tried to keep his hot-headedness under control but Ignis is something else. The more worked up his adversary becomes, the calmer he appears. It’s infuriating. Nearly as much as the quiet way he laughs when Gladiolus’s frustration leads him to make mistakes that are well beneath his skill level. But Gladiolus welcomes the challenge. He’s always strived to improve his skills. And if he’s perfectly honest the surprising nature of their fights is refreshing.

Tonight, Gladiolus can still win. Ignis is on the brink of exhaustion. His hair is damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. His moves are still fluid, but his reaction time has increased. He sees the wide sweep of Gladiolus’s blade, plans to jump over it and roll but his tired body betrays him and uncharacteristically signals his intentions. Gladiolus doesn’t miss the clues and lowers the blade just enough to cut him down at the knees. Ignis still notices and reacts at the last second, rolling over it, the move unbalanced and awkward. Gladiolus winces at the loud thud his shoulder makes hitting the floor. But the fight is not over yet. A couple of steps forward and he rests the tip of his blade on Ignis’s chest to prevent him from getting up again. Gladiolus gets the customary palm to the ground gesture of submission in answer. Satisfied, he drops the sword and offers his hand.

‘You’re okay?’  
‘Fine,’ Ignis says. He takes Gladiolus’s hand, but barely applies any traction to it. Already, he is on his feet by some kind of gravity-defying magic.

They walk back to the locker room, catching their breath and stopping a couple of times to practice stretches against the wall.

‘Tomorrow, same time?’ Gladiolus asks before heading into the shower.  
‘If you wouldn’t mind. This is definitely helping.’  
‘Glad to hear it. Although, Iggy, you might want to be careful…’  
‘Careful?’  
‘Keep going like that and you’re going to start sprouting feathers.’

Ignis laughs in answer. His cheeks are flushed and his smile carefree in a way Gladiolus has never witnessed before. He hurries to the shower for more reasons than one.

 

*

 

Another two weeks and their fights turn into intensely disputed jousts, battles of wits as well as competing - yet very different - displays of physical prowess.

This night, Gladiolus is confident he can get the upper hand. He feels good, relaxed and in control. He’s pushed Ignis time and time again into corners, forcing him to spend energy in countless daring feints and retreats while he stands in his way ready to block. He’s slowly but surely wearing him down.  
And finally, he can see the opening he’s been looking for. Ignis has landed from yet another jump with perfect balance but facing a fraction too far to the right. The precious half-second it takes him to pivot on his feet is all Gladiolus needs to swing his sword and rob Ignis of any chance to evade the hit. He’s already smiling at a well deserved victory.  
It makes what happens next all the more striking. Ignis leaps from the floor and uses the blade coming towards him at full speed as a stepping step to propel himself upwards and flip in the air over Gladiolus’s head. He lands squarely behind him, a dagger to his throat. The whole move is over in less than a second.

‘Holy shit, that was awesome.’  
‘Why, thank you.’

Gladiolus can’t turn his head without making the surprisingly sharp edge of the practice blade bite into his neck, but the satisfaction and the smile are easily audible in Ignis’s words.

‘You planned this. It was a fucking feint and I ran right into it.’  
‘Honestly, it was more of a gamble. It could very well not have worked, but I had to take the risk. I was getting tired.’

Ignis is indeed breathing hard. Hearing him like that brings all sorts of images to the front of Gladiolus’s mind. None of them appropriate in the current setting. He needs to reign himself in.

‘Impressive all the same,’ he says because it’s the truth.

Gladiolus goes to move but the dagger digs into his skin.

‘Forgetting something, are we?’  
‘Sorry, my bad. I yield. Your win, dear.’

Ignis snorts at the epithet but lets him go. Gladiolus rubs at his neck. It’s probably going to bruise.

The idea strikes him a few minutes later. He’s kneeling behind Ignis, hands flat against his back, pushing him down. It doesn’t take much for Ignis’s torso to be flat against the floor between his opened legs as he rests his chin on his crossed hands, stupidly flexible as always. They started helping each other with their stretches spontaneously, in good companionship. And yet, Gladiolus can’t help but let his hands linger always a little longer than necessary. Each day, he gets a bit bolder. So far, he’s gotten no reaction. Ignis is either oblivious or he’s pretending not to notice. Either way, Gladiolus wants to make a real move but he’s worried he’ll ruin what they have. And what they have is already pretty great. Some days, he wishes he could be satisfied with their friendship but he can’t lie to himself. He wants more. A whole lot more.

‘I have an idea.’

Ignis doesn’t move from the floor, holding the stretch.

‘Should I be worried?’  
‘Maybe. We could get in trouble.’

This time, Ignis sits up and eyes him with interest.

‘What’s the idea?’

The words awake a twinge of satisfaction in Gladiolus’s chest, as always when he pieces together something new about Ignis. The man is so dedicated and serious when dealing with Noctis and his duties, so focused during their fights, getting to know him requires constant dedication. But slowly, Gladiolus is learning. He knows that - despite keeping Noctis on the straight and narrow - Ignis is not really a stickler for the rules. Instead, he carefully chooses which ones he approves of and creates his own to work around the ones he doesn’t want to follow. And although he’s better at hiding it, he’s at least as big an adrenaline junkie as Gladiolus himself. Now, it turns out risk-taking might even be one of his turn-ons.

‘How would you like to fly for real?’

Ignis’s face stays impassive but the way his eyes brighten is answer enough.

Getting into the inner Crownsguard barrack is childplay. As the Prince’s Shield, Gladiolus has access and with guards posted around the Palace rather than inside of it, there’s no-one to question them when they enter the empty sanctum. The next part is the dangerous one. Gladiolus has accompanied his father during troop inspections and saw magic-infused weapons being locked into individually sealed boxes. He remembers some of the lock combinations well enough, but he’s most certainly not supposed to access them. If they get caught, there would definitely be trouble.  
The Crown doesn’t take the unauthorised use of light magic lightly. It’s exclusively reserved for the war effort.

Ignis doesn’t say anything, but stays by Gladiolus’s side when he opens a couple of the boxes containing light swords imbued with warping power. A regular person would have no hope of using them, but both Gladiolus and Ignis have already been given access to magic. Adding to it is easy enough. As soon as they grip the hilt of the swords, new power courses alongside the one they’ve long been gifted and braids with it. The swords disappear into thin air. The new rush of magic is heady. They laugh and feel more tipsy than they’d care to admit.

They play around the inner courtyard. Gladiolus had expected warping to be somewhat nausea-inducing but it’s fun and all together easy to control. Ignis is chuckling to himself in-between flashes of blue light, clearly enjoying the experience. Gladiolus is rather pleased with his initiative. It takes a good while for them to want to take a break, winded, smiling at each other.

‘Definitely worth it,’ Gladiolus says.  
‘Yes. Although it’s not really flying.’

Ignis’s gaze is fixed on the Palace’s clocktower with a slight, intent frown.

‘Oh no, no, no. Don’t even think about it.’  
‘Come on. We’ve come this far.’  
‘It wouldn’t be flying either. It’d be falling.’  
‘I’m thinking that somewhere in the middle of falling and warping, it will feel like flying.’  
‘You’re crazy.’  
‘Scared, Amicitia?’

Ignis only calls him by his last name when he’s taunting him. Despite knowing full well he’s playing right into his hands, Gladiolus has too much pride to brush him off.

‘You wish. Fine. Let’s go.’

They shut the boxes and put them back in place before they leave. As long as they return before morning, no-one will be the wiser.  
The evening is turning into night by now and the corridors of the Palace are mostly empty. They make their way to the clocktower stairs, loudly making obnoxious claims about Noctis’s education every time they pass someone to throw off suspicion. They’re dedicated members of the Prince’s House working late. Nothing more. If the double-entendres they throw in keep them sniggering, all the better.  
The stairs leading to the top of the tower are never-ending and rob them of some of their enthusiasm. As fit as they are, they’ve been strenuously exercising for several hours now and the steps are old and uneven. By the time they reach the upper terrace, they’re exchanging ragged tired breaths instead of words and soon collapse against the pillars overlooking the abyss. It’s the new moon and they can barely distinguish the ground underneath. It’s just as well since it’ll make their little tumble less likely to be noticed.

‘Holy hell. I never came all the way up here. We’re so high.’  
‘276 meters,’ Ignis says, because of course he knows. Gladiolus has to push.  
‘When was it built?’  
‘Three centuries ago, under King Tellaris. But he was a weakling. It’s really Queen Beza who was the mastermind behind the construction…’ Ignis answers distractedly still eyeing the void. It’s only when he looks up and sees the amused smile on Gladiolus’s face that he understands he’s been made fun of.

‘Don’t ask if you’re not interested.’  
‘I like hearing you talk.’

There is an instant of charged silence between them and Gladiolus holds his breath. Surely, his attempts at flirting should be obvious enough by now. But Ignis shrugs and gets back on his feet, leaning off the edge to point at the ramparts lost in darkness.

‘We can’t warp until we’re below that parapet or the guards outside might notice the light. We should still be about forty meters off the ground at that point and we can aim to warp back directly to the barrack’s court. It should work.’  
‘“Should” is rather optimistic. Do you know how long it takes to cover forty meters at terminal velocity?’ Gladiolus says before remembering rhetorical questions are often lost on Ignis. ‘Please, don’t answer that.’  
‘We’re not quite high enough to reach terminal velocity. But about point seven seconds,’ Ignis replies anyway. ‘In other words, plenty of time.’  
‘I’ll say it again. You’re crazy.’  
‘You’re going along with it.’  
‘What can I say? You’re also a manipulative bastard.’

Ignis ignores him and summons the warping sword to check its response time. Gladiolus watches him. The thrill of what they’re about to do is keeping a large smile on his face. For once in their too short lives, they’re not focusing solely on their duty. For the space of one evening, they spurred each other on and decided to be the stupid kids making stupid decisions they should be at their age. It’s silly and dangerous, but also a welcome relief.  
They both know it will soon be over and they will go back to their devoted and endless assignments, but for now they can enjoy this a bit longer in good company.

‘Ready?’  
‘Sure. See you on the ground.’

Ignis gives him a little wave, takes a couple of running steps and jumps off the tower. Gladiolus doesn’t hesitate and follows. The mix of fear and exhilaration is intoxicating. Ignis is a dark shadow plummeting into the void underneath him. Wind blows in Gladiolus’s face and his eyes tear up. He forcefully keeps them open to judge the speed and height of his fall. The experience is freeing but over in only a few seconds. So intense and so fast. He sees a blue flash underneath him and follows suit. He throws his sword and he’s warping, the decision made on instinct rather than rational thought.  
They end up in the barrack’s courtyard unscathed, staring at each other in silence for a couple of seconds before bursting out laughing.

‘Fuck. I can’t believe we did this.’

Ignis’s hair is a mess and he’s rubbing at his eyes with his most genuine smile to date.

‘It was pretty awesome.’

They place the swords back where they belong, wincing when the power drains out of them and back into the seals. They summon their own weapons a few times to try to get their usual magic to settle again. They’ll miss the extra ability but there’s comfort in familiarity.  
Once they’ve erased all traces of their little stunt, they hurry to exit the barracks and run right into Cor.

‘Good evening, Marshal,’ Ignis says with perfect politeness while Gladio salutes.  
’Scientia, Gladio, why are you wandering around so late?’  
‘We were looking for my jacket. I thought I might have left it here.’  
‘I see. I’ll set it aside if I find it. You boys should head home and get some rest.’  
‘Yes, sir.’

Cor is still frowning - maybe feeling something’s amiss - but he doesn’t stop them when they walk away.

They wait until they’re out of sight to snigger to each other. They don’t need words. They know it was a close call, but nearly getting caught has only added to the high they’re still riding.

’So,’ Gladiolus asks as they approach the locker room, ‘how did you like flying?’

Ignis’s answer is a noncommittal hum. He keeps walking, eyes on the floor. A pang of disappointment blooms in Gladiolus’s chest at the lack of enthusiasm. He’d hoped they’d shared something that would bring them closer. Instead Ignis is marching on, preceding him into the locker room without looking back.  
But as soon as Gladiolus lets the door fall shut behind him, hands fist into his tank top and push him against the wall. His training kicks in without need for thought. Ignis’s wrists are in his grasp.

‘What are you doing?’

Ignis stares at him with a smirk, before raising one very deliberate eyebrow. They stare at each other for a couple of seconds before Gladiolus’s brain finally catches on. He wastes no time then to lean in and kiss Ignis. Soft and gentle, with just a hint of tongue. It’s all he’s wished for for weeks and he doesn’t want to mess up or push too far.

‘I liked it,’ Ignis says as they come apart.  
‘Fuck, Iggy, I liked it too.’

Ignis laughs.

‘I meant the flying.’  
‘Oh.’  
‘I’m not so sure about the kiss.’

Gladiolus freezes and something ugly drops in his stomach. He hopes he doesn’t look as crestfallen as he feels.

‘I think I need to try it again.’  
‘What?’

Ignis is looking at him with that same smirk still firmly in place.

‘Damn you. I thought you were letting me down…’  
‘I know. You looked so sad, it was kind of cute.’  
‘You’re an ass.’  
‘It’s better if you know now what you’re signing up for.’

Ignis is still making fun of him, but Gladiolus doesn’t care. Not when the words are confirmation that this is not just a quick make-out session in the locker room due to temporary excitement and poor judgement. This is an attempt at a relationship. As inappropriate as it is considering their official roles and how wartime complicates everything, they want to try. And damn, Gladiolus wants to make it work. Fulfilling Ignis’s request is an obvious first step, so he pulls him close and kisses him again. There’s nothing quick or chaste about it this time.

 

*

 

It’s been six months. Six glorious months spent getting to learn each other inside and out. It’s been a slow but rewarding process. And yes, Ignis is still an ass, but Shiva have mercy, Gladiolus actually likes it. Besides, he has his moments too. They complement each other well.

He doesn’t knock when he gets to Ignis’s flat that evening, using his key instead. The fact that he has a key is enough to make him feel giddy. It’s a new development. An important one. Unsurprisingly, when he opens the door a ballet of aromas welcome him, rich and subtle. Ignis looks up from the chopping board on the kitchen counter. He’s wearing pristine dress pants and a shirt with the sleeves rolled-up, as well as - and more importantly - the apron Gladiolus got him to celebrate the New Year. The one that says:

_‘I’m not bossy. I just know what you should be doing.’_

He nearly slept on the couch for that one. But Ignis has been wearing it ever since.

‘Hey,’ Gladiolus says, coming to stand behind him and kissing his temple. ‘Happy birthday.’  
‘Thank you. Good day?’  
‘Same old. I knocked Noctis on his ass a few more times than usual to make up for the fact he didn’t have to hear any of your lectures.’  
‘Very thoughtful.’  
‘I thought so.’ Gladiolus chuckles before changing the topic. ‘You could have let me bring some food so you didn’t have to cook. I’d have gotten something nice.’  
‘I know. But I like cooking and it kept me busy. I didn’t have much to do until you got here.’  
‘You spent your day off working, didn’t you?’  
‘I was bored and I had some reports to read.’  
‘Of course, you were. What are you making?’  
‘My own ramen recipe. I thought I’d show you what noodles are supposed to taste like.’

Gladiolus laughs.

‘I’m sure I’ll see the error of my ways.’  
‘I won’t be done for a little while. Go have a shower.’  
‘Is my musk hurting your delicate sensibilities, my good sir?’

Ignis half-turns towards him and his eyes narrow behind the glasses. He silently points to the apron on his chest. And okay, maybe Gladiolus didn’t think that one through. Because of course Ignis would use his sassy gift as a weapon against him. How could he not…

‘Fine. I’m going,’ he says, raising his hands in surrender.

He does need a shower, but he likes bantering with Ignis more. He grabs some clean clothes from his drawer in the bedroom. Not only has he got a key, but he has a drawer. Since he still lives with his dad and sister, they always meet at Ignis’s and it’s just more practical. But still, whatever the rationale behind it, he has a drawer and the idea makes him warm and fuzzy inside. Six months on, he’s still no better than a giddy twelve year old with his first crush. He keeps it to himself, but it’s an oddly enjoyable feeling. He’s also got his side of the bed and half the books on the shelves are his. He lent them to Ignis and never took them back. He likes to know they’re there, even if he doesn’t analyse that feeling too closely.

By the time Gladiolus comes back from the shower - wearing nothing else but loose sweatpants and the towel he’s drying his hair with - Ignis is setting two bowls down on the coffee table. The flat is too small to have a proper dining area so they tend to eat side by side on the sofa. Neither of them mind. It allows for smooth transitions between eating and other leisurely activities, whether it’s reading in companionable silence or some more hands-on exercises.  
As expected, the food is gorgeous, the taste delicate yet spicy. Gladiolus has to admit it is superior to anything he’s ever eaten, but he can’t imagine dining like this every day. It’s too good to not be exceptional and properly savoured. Ignis rolls his eyes at him when he shares his reflections, but he still looks pleased his cooking is appreciated. There’s coffee cake as well but they barely touch it. It’s lovely but the ramen was filling.  
It seems like the right time, so Gladiolus goes to get his bag.

‘Here you go,’ he says, handing Ignis his present. ‘Happy birthday.’  
‘Thank you.’

Ignis unwraps it and stares at the book in his hands, a gorgeous edition of a rather rare volume.

_Garuda - The Tale of the Lost Seventh Astral._

It’s a novelisation of the old legend. Most people don’t believe the Seventh Astral ever existed. Yet, the forgotten story of the giant divine bird channeling the power of the air - from gentle floral breeze to furiously raging storms - makes sense to Gladiolus. Without it, there’s an empty space in the Pantheon of the Gods that no-one else can fill. Maybe the legend holds some truth and Garuda was indeed the first to fall to the growing spread of darkness.  
He found the book at the old bookstore he likes to spend his spare time at and thought it’d make a perfect gift for Ignis who loved old tales and was always so light and flighty on his feet. When he sees the awe in Ignis’s gaze, the carefulness with which he turns the pages and studies the engravings, Gladiolus knows he got it right.

‘It’s beautiful, Gladio. Thank you.’  
‘I’d hoped you’d like it.’  
‘I do. Read it to me.’  
‘Sure.’

Ignis likes Gladiolus’s voice. When he’s tired, he enjoys listening to him read whatever book he’s currently engrossed in. These moments are both intimate and undemanding, a perfect illustration of what they share besides their carnal desires. They rearrange themselves along the length of the sofa in the same spontaneous move, Gladiolus sitting at one end and Ignis leaning back against him. Gladiolus starts reading.  
The beginning of the book has a light tone, detailing stories of a time long past when Garuda was supposedly still a powerful deity. It tells of lost children finding their way home by collecting colourful feathers, of old hunters saved from their savage quarry by the attack of a ghostly silver bird, of a maiden throwing herself into the sea to escape a forced union and transforming into a cliff sparrow, fleeting and forever unattainable, of the cursed castle on Angelgard, and its wretched inhabitants, gutted and destroyed by a thunder storm that lasted three generations. Garuda was a protector of the vulnerable, gentle and kind with the feeble, yet fierce and vengeful when angered.  
Gladiolus keeps reading for a long time, absorbed into tale after tale, until finally - at the end of a chapter - Ignis takes the book from him and carefully sets it down on the table. He doesn’t say anything, just turns around into Gladiolus’s arms and kisses him. It’s Ignis’s birthday after all and there’s still a part of the celebrations they’ve been very much looking forward to.

 

*

 

A couple of months later, as spring firmly settles in, Gladiolus takes Noctis hunting outside the city. The war is quietly brewing in the distance, but the countryside around Insomnia is safe enough. They camp for a couple of days, kill some spiracorns and even one garulessa. The last evening, they invite a couple of hunters to join them around the fire. Gladiolus is pretty sure no-one at the Palace would approve of Noct drinking with the men, but seeing the Prince tipsy is too amusing to pass. Besides, being on active duty, Gladiolus hasn’t touched a single drop. His Highness’ safety is assured.

By the time they get back, he’s thoroughly exhausted. He stumbles home, gives Iris some wild flowers he found for her and collapses in his bed for a full night of undisturbed slumber. The next day, still groggy from sleeping longer than he’s used to, he makes his way to Ignis’s. It’s Saturday and they’re both off duty. He sits down on the sofa, pretends to read for all of ten minutes and promptly goes back to sleep.  
The light has dimmed in the room, painted in the warm golden hues of a clear dusk, when Gladiolus opens his eyes again. He sits up with a low groan and stretches his arms, before looking around. Ignis is sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, clad in gossamer pyjama pants, chin resting on his knee. He appears relaxed but focused as he flicks through the pages of a report and adds notes in the margins for Noctis’s benefit.

‘You’re such a workaholic,’ Gladiolus says, strolling close to put his chin on Ignis’s shoulder and stare at the array of paperwork strewn across the table. Four empty cans of Ebony are neatly arranged near the edge.  
‘You were sleeping.’  
‘You could have joined me.’  
‘Thanks to your little excursion I haven’t had to chase after Noct for three days. Trust me, I’m refreshed. Council meetings are not that demanding. And before you say sleep isn’t what you had in mind, you sure looked like you could use the rest.’

Gladiolus laughs. Ignis knows him way too well.

‘Fair enough. But I’m awake now.’  
‘I’ve noticed. Hungry?’  
‘Sure.’

They eat some reheated fish stew, but it’s Ignis’s cooking and at least as good the next day. Gladiolus spends the dinner narrating his and Noctis’s exploits up to their encounter with the hunters.

‘We had a grand old time.’

Ignis’s eyes harden behind his glasses.

‘Be honest. How much did you corrupt the heir to the throne?’  
‘Just a bit. He needs some real-life experiences.’  
‘He recovered okay?’  
‘Hmm, probably still has a headache. He was rather grouchy the next day.’  
‘At least, it was the last evening before you headed back.’  
‘A perfect plan. Just to make you proud.’

Ignis chuckles at that before getting up and gathering their plates. He goes to drop them in the sink. Gladiolus raises his voice to be heard over the sound of running water.

‘One of the hunters had an awesome tattoo of a naga on his arm, it swirled all the way around from his wrist to his shoulder. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. About getting a tattoo, I mean. It would be pretty cool.’

Gladiolus doesn’t get an answer. He lifts himself from the sofa just enough to peer over the kitchen counter. Ignis has his back to him, staring at the slowly filling sink. The perfect stillness of his pose rings alarm bells in Gladiolus’s mind. Something’s wrong.  
He already knows this isn’t about him getting a tattoo. While Ignis is usually reserved, if asked, he has never been shy about giving his opinion on Gladiolus’s life choices.

‘Iggy? What is it?’

Ignis doesn’t answer right away, but at least he’s moving again. He shuts the water off before turning towards Gladiolus. His face is closed off, impossible to read.

‘Do you really want one?’  
‘I…’ Gladiolus hesitates, confused by the serious undertones of what was supposed to be a light conversation. ‘Yes, I do actually. Something meaningful and personal. I don’t know what yet. But I like the idea of using my body as a canvas. It’s powerful.’  
‘I see.’  
‘Iggy, what’s going on? Do you hate the idea?’  
‘It’s not that.’

Ignis walks up to Gladiolus and pushes his shirt off his shoulders. The gesture is not suggestive, only purposeful. Ignis’s eyes sweep over his naked torso, slowly, with a slight frown marring his face as if examining a complex puzzle. Finally, he lets out a barely audible sigh.

‘Look, you don’t have to, but if you wanted…’  
‘Yes?’

Ignis goes to the glass-fronted cupboard in the entrance and grabs a rectangular wooden box from the highest shelf. It’s seen better days, the varnish flaking off in places. He sets it on the kitchen counter and opens it. Wrapped in linen are several traditional tattooing instruments. A serrated comb made of reed with sharpened bone needles for teeth. A little wooden mallet. Ink powder and mixing cups.

‘They were my mum’s,’ Ignis explains. ‘She taught me the basics when I was little. I forgot about it when I came here. But after the Empire razed their village, the neighbours brought me the box when they took refuge in Insomnia. When I understood my family wasn’t coming back, I thought maybe I should take it up again. I guess I was trying to preserve some kind of connection to the past, as inconsequential as it was. I found a master here at the East Cultural Centre, and I’ve been working with him every since. It’s been about seven years.’

Gladiolus had forgotten. Ignis’s remote region of origin is where Lucis’s art of tattooing comes from. It’s an important part of the culture there and it’s not surprising to hear his family was linked to it. He watches how Ignis’s fingers linger on the instruments, stroking them reverently.

‘Are you offering?’

He has to be sure. Ignis looks up from staring at the box.

‘Only if you want to. I won’t take it personally, if you’d rather go see someone else.’

Gladiolus is not worried about Ignis’s skills. He’s seen the extravagance the man can create with frosting on desserts, ink has to be a piece of cake next to that - pun intended. Besides, he wouldn’t have volunteered if he wasn’t confident in his abilities. But there’s something else beneath the offer, something important Gladiolus hasn’t figured out yet. Some dark instinct pushes him to ask.

‘Why haven’t you got any?’

Ignis shakes his head.

‘I can’t.’  
‘Why not?’  
‘They’re always done by family. It’s tradition.’

Gladiolus’s chest hurts at the words, at what they imply. He thinks of Ignis painstakingly working for years on skills he might never be given the opportunity to use, just to preserve an identity everything else has sought to erase. And he thinks of his offer, of what it means. It’s always done by family, he said.  
Ignis is still looking at him, calm and unwavering. He must know Gladiolus has made the leap between his words and the hidden meaning behind them, but he shows no doubt or embarrassment.

‘I’d be honoured if you would do this for me,’ Gladiolus says softly, because he understands all his decision represents.  
‘You’re sure?’  
’I’ve never been more sure of anything.’

He gets a smile followed by a thoughtful kiss for that. Ignis leans back just enough to send him a stern look.

‘You know it’s going to hurt, right?’  
‘I don’t mind.’  
‘I didn’t think you would,’ Ignis says, his amused chuckle erasing what’s left of the tension between them.  
‘Now?’  
‘Up to you.’  
‘Now then.’

They decide to move to the bedroom to give Ignis space to work. Gladiolus lies down on the bed and watches him set up the instruments, mix the ink, pour rubbing alcohol on cotton wool. It is reminiscent of preparations for a sacred ceremony. In many respects, it probably is.  
Ignis sits on the edge of the mattress.

‘What do you…’

But Gladiolus interrupts him. He only needs one look at Ignis to know.

‘You already have something in mind.’  
‘It’s your artwork,’ Ignis says, although he doesn’t deny it.  
‘I want what’s in that pretty head of yours.’  
‘That’s irrational. You don’t even know what it is.’  
‘No, it isn’t and I don’t need to. I trust you.’

Ignis stares at him for a few long seconds, searching his face for some kind of confirmation. Gladiolus stares back with a reassuring smile and waits. It works. Ignis shrugs and starts by rubbing alcohol on the skin of his left pectoral. Gladiolus can’t help but shiver at the cold but otherwise doesn’t move.

He quickly discovers that Ignis wasn’t lying. It hurts. More than he expected. But he clenches his jaw and forces his fists to open and smooth the bedsheets under his palms. Pain, he can handle. The room is filled with the quick taps of the mallet hitting the handle of the comb, driving its teeth through skin. Gladiolus feels like a block of marble being sculpted. It’s an odd and euphoric feeling. He doesn’t try to look at what Ignis is doing, but watches him instead. The fascinating intensity of his features, the way he pushes his glasses back up with the back of his hand every few minutes, the barely visible sweat on his brow from heightened concentration, the teeth intermittently biting at his lower lip when he gets lost in thought, and the clear icy pupils that flicker to Gladiolus’s face every so often to check he’s still bearing the ordeal. Ignis is beautiful and a most welcome distraction as Gladiolus ignores the growing protest of his body begging to get away from the pain.

‘Tell me if you need a break,’ Ignis says after the first hour.  
‘I’m good.’

In truth, it’s getting easier. Repetition makes the pain duller and his body has been releasing appreciated endorphins to help him withstand it. Gladiolus is slowly sliding into a rather sedated state of mind, content to let his eyes wander over Ignis without thought or reason.  
Ignis notices the change of demeanour quickly enough but doesn’t comment. His only answer is the soft smile that lingers on his lips and is renewed every time he looks up from his work to glance at Gladiolus.

Another hour passes. Ignis gets up to stretch the muscles in his back and arms. He disappears to get a drink from the kitchen, but he’s left the towel he’s been wiping excess ink and pearling blood with on Gladiolus’s chest. He’s clearly not done yet. Gladiolus waits. He doesn’t even try to peek. It seems rather pointless by now. He wants to see the work finished the way Ignis has envisioned it.

The next hour, Gladiolus drifts in and out of sleep. His waking moments are filled with the now muted bite of the comb, the press of the towel, and the brush of fingertips against his skin. Ignis is still focused, his ability to concentrate for long periods of time astonishing as always. Gladiolus wakes up again to the sound of Ignis washing his instruments in the bathroom. He waits for him to come back.

‘Finished?’  
‘If you’re done napping, yes.’  
‘Thank you.’  
‘Look at it before you thank me. Use the mirror, you’ll get a better view.’

Gladiolus does as he’s told and steps in the bathroom to look at his reflection. He stops and stares. The head of a bird of prey stretches across his pectoral, beak open in a screech or a threat, drawn in the most exquisite of details. The expression in the eye. The outline of individual feathers. The perfect shading creating depth and contrast. It’s beautiful and exactly what he wanted in a way he could never have articulated. He also knows who the bird is and feels warmth blooming in his gut when he realises Ignis has chosen to put it there, as close to Gladiolus’s heart as he aesthetically could.

‘Garuda,’ he whispers.

It’s not a question but he gets an affirmative hum in answer anyway. Ignis is leaning against the doorframe, watching him. He’s perfectly still but an unusual tension inhabits the svelte lines of his body. This is as close to fidgeting as Ignis ever gets.

‘Do you like it?’  
‘Oh, Iggy.’

Gladiolus takes a single step and kisses him, trying to convey all that words are dreadfully inadequate for.

‘Thank you,’ he tries anyway when they run out of air. ‘I love it.’

Ignis’s smile is blinding.

 

*

 

After a couple of weeks, his skin has finished healing. The tattoo sits on his breast as if it’s always been there. It draws attention and compliments which Gladiolus accepts in good grace. He doesn’t expand on the topic, letting people interpret the bird as they wish. Its meaning is too complex to be put in words, and too intimate for him to want to share it even if he could. He spends a good deal of time shutting down hopeful admirers wanting to know how to get in touch with his artist. He doesn’t need to ask to know that tattooing is too personal a skill for Ignis to have any desire to spread it around. Besides, he remembers the words well enough, ‘it’s always done by family.’ Ignis hasn’t worked as hard as he has to preserve his heritage in order to break ancestral traditions now.  
His art is about family and connection.

Gladiolus stares in the mirror whenever he exits the shower. He remembers how sure he was of his decision to take Ignis up on his offer, how doubt didn’t make a scratch on his mind, how he knew that Ignis’s vision would be better than whatever he could imagine.  
The irrational intensity of his feelings should scare him, but he only has to catch the eye of the bird to know. He still wants more.

 

 

 

<==============================================>

 

 

**Ignis**

 

Ignis peers over the edge of his report. Gladio is doing squats in the corner of the room, muscles rolling under smooth skin every time he moves. Of course, he’s half-naked. His disdain for shirts has turned into unrepentant aversion ever since Ignis has tattooed his chest. He’s even exchanged the usual tank top of his Crownsguard uniform for an open leather jacket that exposes more than it covers.  
While Ignis is - secretly - pleased with that development, his ability to concentrate on his work suffers the consequences. He swallows a sigh and reads the next paragraph. Retreat, casualties, MIA squadrons, fleeing civilians. It’s been the same for weeks. The specific numbers change but the tally is ever growing. The words blur in front of his eyes and he closes the folder. He’s overdone it yet again and he needs a break.

He sets the report down on the coffee table and picks up the volume lying next to it. Gladiolus’s new book. Ignis knows he’s going to get told off for it but he can’t help himself. It’s not his fault if Gladio has a knack for discovering little-known literature gems. It is very much his fault he can’t find the patience to wait until he finishes his new read before stealing it. Ignis looks up and has to raise himself above the back of the sofa to catch sight of Gladiolus on the floor, doing push-ups. The man’s endless energy is truly a blessing. In more ways than one. For now, Ignis is safe to peruse his ill-acquired gain. He slides down to lie on the sofa, hidden from view.

The book tells of a mistaken identity story. A queen, raised in exile, coming back to her homeland to reclaim her throne. She thwarts an assassination attempt right after her arrival, but in the ensuing confusion gets mixed up with a young thief who’d hoped to rob her. The two storylines continue in parallel, each woman having to learn to survive within the boundaries of her new identity. The squalid slums. The traitorous court. The style is easy and entertaining, exactly what Ignis needs to get his mind off the day’s politics. He’s too engrossed in the book to pay much attention when Gladiolus finishes his exercises. The growl that follows, however, is difficult to ignore.

‘Not again! Damn it, Iggy, I’m reading this.’  
‘Not now, you’re not.’

Ignis swiftly evades the hand that tries to take the volume from him.

‘Why can’t you get your own books?’  
‘Because you’re already doing all the footwork to find the ones worth reading. I’d be stupid not to take advantage.’  
‘You have no shame.’  
‘None whatsoever,’ Ignis agrees with a smirk.

Gladiolus rolls his eyes, but comes to sit on the armrest by Ignis’s head.

‘Whatever. I give up. Do you like it?’  
‘I do. It’s been a good distraction so far.’

Gladiolus doesn’t miss the truth hidden in the words. One of thinly veiled weariness and discouragement. Fingers thread through Ignis’s hair, gentle and soothing. He rests the book on his chest and lets his eyes close. He needs that undemanding affection even more.  
Gladiolus is the first to break the silence.

‘I’ve been thinking…’

Ignis waits, but nothing else comes. Gladiolus’s fingers are still playing with his hair.

‘Don’t worry. It gets easier the more you do it.’

He gets cuffed in jest for the sass but hearing Gladio laugh is worth it.

‘Idiot.’  
‘So what have you been thinking about?’

Ignis twists his neck to try and get a good view of Gladiolus’s face but there’s half a biceps in the way. He sits up instead. Gladio slides from the armrest onto the sofa, bumping their shoulders.

‘I want another tattoo.’

Ignis pauses. He wasn’t expecting that.

‘Haven’t suffered enough, have you?’ he says to counteract the silence while he gets his thoughts in order.  
‘Don’t joke. I’m serious.’

Gladiolus always finds ways to surprise him. Getting intensely attached to what Ignis sees as his heritage and what it represents certainly fits the bill. Ignis has no doubt that Gladio understands the weight of his request. After what he told him last time, he knows how much meaning it carries. Yet, with no second thoughts or hesitation, his decision is already made.

‘Do you want another one? Or do you want me to expand on this one?’ Ignis asks, his fingers brushing inked skin.

Gladiolus’s eyes widen.

‘You can do that?’

Ignis smiles to himself. If he can… In truth, he’s had a vision of what a completed Garuda could look like on Gladio from the start. Glorious and powerful. But he’s never imagined he would be given the opportunity to draw any more of it out. He wasn’t planning on ever mentioning the possibility to Gladiolus. Tattoos are offered, never imposed.

‘Yes, I can do that,’ Ignis says, before waving his hand. ‘Stand up. Let me have a look.’

Gladiolus obeys, stepping away from the couch. Ignis watches. He already knows what it would look like, but imagining it when staring at Gladio’s body is something else entirely. Ignis lets his eyes drift from the bird to the well-defined abs and the hips bones peeking from low-riding sweatpants.

’Turn around.’

He loves Gladiolus’s back. So much bunched strength and flawless, bare skin. Waiting for him. Only for him. Heat pools in the pit of his stomach.

’Now, give me a twirl and take off your pants. Nice and slow.’

He’s mostly joking. But Gladiolus doesn’t miss a beat and flamboyantly executes his orders. The conversation is cut rather short.

 

*

 

The next day, the news that Altissia has accepted Niflheim rule in exchange for some modicum of retained sovereignty falls. It’s chaos in the higher spheres of Insomnia. Lucis has lost, if not an ally, at least a nation whose interests were aligned with theirs. They’re the only ones left standing against the Empire now and the situation is grave. Ignis sits on extraordinary Council meetings, discussing strategies that sound more and more desperate as the hours pass. King Regis looks exhausted, a shadow of his usual self.  
When the evening comes after two days of deliberations that have yielded little result, Ignis is in dire need of a distraction. One phone call and Gladiolus meets him at their usual training room. Ignis starts by doing push-ups against the wall, a gentle enough exercise to warm up his shoulders before they spar without risking straining them. He doesn’t miss Gladiolus coming up behind him. Too close for social convenances but not close enough to be overly inappropriate if anybody was to walk in on them.

‘How about a wager?’

Ignis turns around, nonchalantly leaning against the wall for show, but he doesn’t mask his interest.

‘What did you have in mind?’  
‘If I win, you start expanding on my tattoo tonight.’  
‘And if you lose?’  
‘You tell me. What do you want?’

Ignis lets him stew for a while. In truth, he’s rather taken by Gladio’s proposition. It is exactly the kind of focused distraction he needs. But he will never pass an opportunity to mess with him.

‘Fine. If I win, you take me home, fuck me in the shower, and then I’ll work on your tattoo.’

Gladiolus blinks owlishly at him for a couple of seconds. His sword hits the ground with a loud clang.

‘I yield. You win.’

Ignis laughs. He never forgets there are more than one way to win a fight.

They still spar. Physical exhaustion is soothing to their nerves and in view of the recent news, they need it. Their rhythm is different than usual, closer to a normal training exercise. Ignis has already won and they both know it.

Gladiolus makes good on his promise. Ignis is wonderfully relaxed when he sets to work, all the concerns from the previous days momentarily forgotten. He spends an hour adding a row of small feathers to the bird’s neck, fanning out towards the shoulder. Gladio watches him the whole time. His gaze is lingering, but it carries none of its usual intensity. Ignis can tell he’s not fully awake.

‘Gladio.’  
‘Hm?’  
‘Wake up. This is actually important.’  
‘What?’  
‘How big do you want it to end up?’  
‘As big as you want.’  
‘I’m serious.’  
‘So am I.’  
‘Try again with your eyes open.’

Gladiolus laughs and pushes himself up. He takes Ignis’s face in his hands and stares at him, unblinking.

‘I am serious,’ he repeats. ‘I don’t mind how big you make it.’  
‘It could become really big,’ Ignis says, dragging his fingertips along Gladio’s arms from shoulders to wrists. His tone is teasing, but he wants to impress on Gladiolus what he’s agreeing to. There’s no take-backs when it comes to that kind of project.  
‘I’d be okay with that.’

Gladiolus leans forward to brush his lips against Ignis’s.

‘You look at me and I can tell you’re seeing something there waiting, wanting to be inked. I told you before, that’s what I want. I won’t settle for anything else, so stop worrying.’  
‘You do realise this is quite permanent.’  
‘Exactly why I want it.’

Ignis has no answer to that except to give in and agree to the request. Besides, Gladiolus is right. He still has a vision in his mind, a gorgeous, glorious vision that begs to come to life. He can’t refuse the opportunity to let it happen when it’s so genuinely offered.

 

It becomes something of a ritual, working on the tattoo after sex. Physical connection and pleasure are powerful tools. They make Ignis’s headspace serene, his task also easier when Gladio is relaxed and full of endorphins that stop him from tensing at the pain. Most nights, he only works on a single feather. He’s in no hurry, instead revelling into the feeling of creating something withstanding and beautiful when around them the war inflames. The tattoo is not a tally so much as a tale of their time together, each feather reliving shared emotions and private moments.  
Ignis stares every time he adds one more to the myriad gradually invading Gladiolus’s back. He wishes he could remember each and every one of them, but there are so many. Too many to count, too many to recall, too many to ever forget. It’s a melancholic, yet warm feeling.  
It takes a couple of years for feathers to spread from shoulder to shoulder and down to Gladio’s waist.

The world around them endures. An unseen countdown reigns over their lives.

 

*

 

Gladiolus’s hair is still locked between his fingers and Ignis winces when he lets go of his grip, his knuckles protesting the release of longstanding tension. The breath against his neck is shaky and warm. It soon morphs into aimless open-mouth kisses that make him shiver. Ignis basks in the quietude of the afterglow for a while, but this can’t stay comfortable for long.

‘You’re heavy.’

A grunt answers him, but Gladiolus doesn’t move. If anything he pins Ignis down even more to make sure he can’t pull himself free. Ignis sighs. Brute strength is not going to work and trying to reason with a post-coital Gladiolus is never an easy task, but it’s the only option he has.

‘Gladio.’  
‘Hm?’  
‘Enjoyed yourself, did you?’

The reply is muffled into Ignis’s neck.

‘Was pretty great.’  
‘Yes, it was lovely. Now, if you ever want to do it again, I’d advise you let me breathe.’  
‘You’re talking just fine for someone who can’t breathe.’

And that’s why reasoning is always a long shot. In truth, Ignis has another option left. It’s fast, safe and efficient. But he doesn’t like using it. It’s also cowardly and juvenile. Still, desperate times ask for desperate measures.  
Tickling Gladio until he gets off him, retreats to the edge of the mattress and falls to the floor only takes a few seconds. Ignis could have stopped at the first part, but he wants to teach him a lesson. It might make him more cooperative next time. Maybe. He’s not getting his hopes up.

‘You’re an ass,’ Gladiolus accuses, still laughing. ‘We were having a moment.’  
‘Asphyxiation isn’t one of my kinks. And I asked nicely first.’

Ignis lets Gladio pick himself up from the floor. Since the spell is broken, he gets the wooden box from the nightstand. They don’t have to talk about it. It’s habit by this point.

‘Stay on your back,’ Ignis says when Gladiolus goes to lie down on the bed.

He takes Gladio’s left arm in his hands, examining the inking. It goes down to the elbow, in a beautifully shaded mix of feathers of different sizes and orientations. But the flow of the work is incomplete. Ignis’s fingers trail down to the forearm, drawing long, slender flames on still bare skin. It feels like a turning point. Although he’s already inked vast expanses of Gladio’s skin, none of them have been persistently under his gaze. Gladiolus can forget or ignore the wings on his back and shoulders, even the head on his chest. But his forearms… Once the ink is there, he will see it all the time. Fighting, eating, reading. Whatever he does, Ignis’s art will be part of it.

A hand covers his, stopping the haphazard brush of his fingers, keeping it still, pressed against warm muscle. Ignis looks up. Gladiolus is staring at him.

‘Do it,’ he says.

The time Ignis doubted Gladiolus’s requests is long past. He gets to work.

 

*

 

Ignis gets home much later than usual that night. He’s exhausted but more than anything the relentless thoughts in his mind refuse to give him even the briefest respite. He shuts the door behind him, a flimsy but welcome barrier between him and the world. He straightens from taking his shoes off and already arms are around him. He must look wrecked for Gladiolus to notice so quickly. The embrace is welcome. Ignis leans into it.

‘His Majesty’s asked that we come for an audience in the morning. He wants us to take Noct to Altissia.’  
‘Oh, the wedding with Lady Lunafreya? It’s happening then?’  
‘It is.’  
‘But?’

Ignis hesitates. Most of what he knows about the war is classified. He can’t talk about any of it outside the Council chambers. But in all honesty, nothing has changed regarding the conflict. There are rumours of peace talks but he doubts they will lead anywhere. Niflheim has only become more ruthless in recent years. No, that’s not what bothers him.

‘I don’t know exactly. There’s something coming, Gladio. I can’t explain it, but I feel it.’  
‘You just say the word, Iggy. I trust your intuition. Do you think we shouldn’t go?’  
‘No, getting Noct out of here is the best thing we can do. But it feels wrong to leave. Things are going to come to a head very soon.’

Gladiolus sighs, rests his cheek against Ignis’s hair.

‘Our duty is to protect Noct. It’s the one thing we can do. It’s what we must focus on.’  
‘I know.’

Gladiolus is right but Ignis can’t shake the sense of foreboding inhabiting him.

‘Gladio.’  
‘Yes?’  
‘I want to finish your tattoo tonight.’

His request is followed by a long, heavy silence. Gladiolus is probably filling it with all the justifications Ignis has left out. ‘Before we can’t do this anymore’, ‘before it’s too late’, ‘before something tragic happens’. But he doesn’t voice any of them either.

‘Okay. Let’s do that.’  
‘Thank you.’  
‘That’s not really the way it’s supposed to go, but you’re welcome. Go have a shower, I’ll whip up some food and then we can get to it.’  
‘No cup noodles.’  
‘Fine, no cup noodles.’

Gladiolus makes a mean omelette, but Ignis is too preoccupied to pay attention to what he’s eating, a sure sign that his unsettled mood is due to more than a passing concern. Gladio can feel it too and it’s not long before they relocate to the bedroom.  
Ignis spreads his tools on a clean towel, trying to forget it’s almost certainly the last time he gets to do this. He places his hand on Gladiolus’s back and gets a sigh in answer. He can feel muscles being forcefully yet incompletely relaxed under his palm. He’s not the only one who’s feeling tense.  
His fingers trail down to the yet incomplete part of the tattoo. There’s little left to do. Two or three of the tail feathers and he’s done. It’s been so long it feels almost unreal. Ignis gets to work.  
Their circumstances are changing fast. The time when working on Gladio’s art provided them both with a safe bubble outside their daily worries and woes is over. This part of their life is coming to a close. From the morning onwards, nothing but keeping Noctis safe will matter.

It still takes Ignis several hours to finish his work, the shading takes time and he needs it to be perfect. There will be no retouching it in the future. By the time he’s done, Gladiolus has drifted into sleep. Ignis pauses and gazes at him for a while. He doesn’t know what’s coming, but he suspects it will be a long time before they’re granted an evening like this one again. If ever.  
He watches Gladiolus sleep. His Gladio. Gentle. Powerful. Selfless.

Ignis’s eyes drift back down to his finished work. The skin there is flushed and mildly swollen. Further still, in the dip of Gladiolus’s lower back, drops of crimson blood have pooled around dark ink. The contrast is unsettling. A few wispy threads of darkness are invading into red. Ignis’s chest hurts like a warning.  
Fear is unhelpful. He has no trouble ignoring it when he’s the one in peril, but this is different. The past few years have given him so much he never wants to lose. The unstoppable march of the war makes him feel powerless and wary.  
Ignis grabs a towel and wipes Gladio’s back clean. The bird spreads its wings, perfect and unblemished. _Our tattoos hold power, Ignis_ , his mother used to say. His fingers follow inked lines for a long time. He put each of them there himself and yet they belong to Gladiolus in a way he can’t explain. Ignis lays his hand over Garuda’s back - over Gladio’s.

‘Protect him,’ he asks.

The room is silent, windows and doors closed.

Yet, for an ephemeral instant, a gentle wind blows through Ignis’s fingers and across adorned skin in answer.

 

 


End file.
